The Game
by EveNee
Summary: What happens on the days with no Numbers? Rinch pairing! To be absolutely clear - Harsh reviews hurt feelings! This is a Finch/Reese pairing. If you honestly don't like it, skip! I don't mind just keep your hate away from my stories.


**So, I really wanted a scenario for John to act hero, and show what I think Finch does to John on days when they don't have numbers. ;] **

**Special thanks to MamaHub again! (Awesome and kind woman!)**

***Has been tweaked to not make people 'cringe' from lack of prep***

* * *

John was sitting at a café under a black umbrella off in the corner. He had a glass of white wine between his fingers and a note in his other hand. He had gotten the note from the bottom of the wine glass; neatly folded, held by a half a piece of tape. The cursive scrawled across it was nearly perfect. At the very bottom of the note, after a dash, was 'H.F.' John smiled while leaning back in the chair and memorizing the note. It read,

"Try the eggs benedict."

His blue eyes shut as John recalled the diner he had followed Finch to many times. He always suggested the eggs benedict, claiming they were very good. John slipped the note into his pocket, tipped the rest of the wine down his throat, and left the café. The dark sunglasses slid up his nose and he blended into the crowd.

Finch had called him this morning. John had just woken up. He rolled over to get the cell and smothered it against his ear. The voice on the other end was light and happy. Finch proposed a game to test John's abilities on a day with no Numbers. John switched the phone to his other ear and yawned an 'Alright.' Finch quietly chuckled. "Black umbrella. White wine. If you give up, call me to forfeit." That was all the instructions he received. He had gotten less before, like coordinates on his special op missions. The task amused him. This was what he could consider to be actual fun.

He found the café with the black umbrellas. He knew it was right because there was a half glass of white wine sitting on the table in the far corner. Finch took care to place it where John could see all of his surroundings, as he preferred. There he found the note. Now, he was on a hunt. Of course, it was rather easy to decipher. The diner was nearby – walking distance. He was a few blocks away and enjoyed the weekend walk. It was sunny with a few fluffy, white clouds roaming the broad sky. The wind blew softly, carrying leaves and conversations John tried his best to ignore. The streets were bustling with a mix of suits and common wear. John himself was in a black T-shirt and cargo pants. He wanted to be comfortable for this rare occasion. His gun was tucked into his belt against his back. He had the police badge he stole snug in his back pocket – just in case. Things were turning out nicely.

The diner was full of regulars. Most of them were old, the rest were young, stressed businessmen that had charmed the waitresses. The only waitress currently on the floor came up to him with a smile and showed him to their usual table. He slid into the booth on Finch's side to get a view of the rest of the area. It was a habit he couldn't break. He plucked the menu from the window and spread it out to find the next code. But, before he could even flip it open, his plate was served. He casually poked at the slab of ham and puffs of muffins. He avoided playing with the poached egg to preserve it, but did brush a bit of the hollandaise sauce off to the side. He guessed the clue may be on the underside of the plate but didn't want to waste the food. Despite all the times Finch had suggested it, Reese had never ordered the dish. For once, he might as well enjoy it. He smiled again, figuring out what Finch was doing.

He started to eat. He switched from the coated eggs to the soaked ham and his tall glass of water. Eventually, the plate became a simple mess of all the ingredients. After a few minutes, he managed to down the entire meal. John couldn't help but smile again with a soft chuckle as he sat back in the booth. The plate was engraved. It depicted the bench he first met Finch on under the bridge. The engraving was magnificent but the game was proving too easy. The waitress came by and took the dishes as John worked over Finch's endgame.

John put on his sunglasses and headed out. A taxi was waiting for him. This was hardly a game. He told the cabby where and the ride was silent. John was happy though. He seemed to enjoy this type of play. He was dropped off on the side of the road by the underpass of the bridge. The cab drove off. Everything today was paid for beforehand by Finch. John put his hands into his pockets and made for the bench. Just as he sat down, his ear piece turned on.

"Under the seat." Finch still sounded happy.

John bent over and pulled the brown shopping bag onto the seat next to him. Inside was a very small box. He assumed it was a prize. The box popped open and inside was a ring. It was a band. It looked silver, or a mix of other metals. It fit perfectly on his left ring finger, which struck him as a little odd. Finch was a little too educated about him.

"Finch, you're supposed to show up for dates," John teased as he set the bag on the ground and looked out across the water and skyline.

"It's a tracking device. You keep breaking your phone, Mr. Reese. It works with the Bluetooth as well, so you can also track my location." Finch's voice went from in his ear to the air around him. John slung his arm over the back of the bench and looked to the man hobbling down the path. When Finch made it to the bench, John moved over and held a welcoming smile.

"I'm sure you're wondering how. It only tracks and transmits a location." Finch showed John the matching ring he wore on his left hand.

"You simply change Bluetooth, here." Finch handed John a new earpiece. It was smaller, but had an extra button on it. Finch pointed to it and made a gesture for John to try it out.

John switched earpieces and gave it a try. The earpiece beeped, then read an automated message of coordinates and distance away in meters, direction, and altitude. He looked impressed. Finch was happy as could be and turned to look out over the water.

"Did my game disappoint you, Mr. Reese?" Finch craned his head to look at John who was fiddling with the ring. He clearly wasn't used to it.

"Not at all. Must be lonely when you can't talk to me," he chuckled and looked up to meet the pale blue eyes. Both were very amused.

"Well," Finch broke the silence while turning his gaze away from John, "I also took the liberty of fixing your suit. It's in the backseat of my car. Go take a look." Finch motioned to a black car at the top of the hill.

John shrugged and went to go see. The last case had done a number on his usual attire, to which Finch said he would handle it. His suit was laid out with a tie – a new Number he thought at first. Then he noticed the cuffs on the dress shirt and all the detail work. Finch had really outdone himself this time. John turned back from the car to thank his boss, but the bench was empty. There was no way Finch could disappear that fast. John quickly sped down the hill to the bench and looked around. Then, as much as he wished he hadn't heard it, a car's tires spun out at the top of the hill and sped down the road.

John ran back to the top of the hill. The car was gone. It was such a lovely day, and then Finch had to go and get kidnapped. John thought over what they might want Finch for to calm his mind. The machine? A misunderstanding? John shook his head and looked down to his hand. The ring shimmered. That was too much of a coincidence. He pressed his Bluetooth and waited. It beeped and stated that the target was moving north, almost a mile away now. John 'borrowed' Finch's car and headed north down the road. It took a series of wrong turns and directions he couldn't take by road for John to get within a mile of Finch's final location. He hadn't moved any further for a few minutes, which worried John. He left the car in a parking garage a mile away from the last directions and started sprinting, almost as though he was late for work. If he ran too fast, it might look suspicious. It didn't take long for him to narrow the location down to a single building. The device said Finch was underground. This abandoned apartment building had to be it.

The building was large but just beyond repair that the city could pay for. It wasn't falling apart, just run down and in a rather nasty part of the town. The front door was locked. John would have preferred to kick it in, but didn't want to risk Finch's safety. He looked around the building. No fire escapes, just a window to a lower floor. It was open, luckily. He opened it and slid his body in; thankful he had worn something flexible. He was in the subfloor. There were stairs to the ground floor and stairs further down. One more click and beep and he understood he had to go down. He was only a few meters away. The door was open a crack and he eased it further open with his back while readying his gun. As he peeked inside the room, anger swelled inside him. Finch was being held by a single man – a thug. He had him in a headlock, straining his neck. The pain was etched across Finch's face. His jacket, phone, Bluetooth, ring and other accessories were spread out on a crate by a rather arrogant looking man. He assumed he was the leader by his show of tattoos and gun resting in his hand. He was leaning back in a chair with his feet up. There was a skinny, rather timid guy hiding behind him, repeating what he said just to be part of it. John listened for a moment before he made any decisions.

"I thought you would carry more money, old man. You looked pretty damn rich. Doesn't matter, we'll get the money out of you somehow."

Just thugs. It wasn't anything complicated. John bit his lip to make his hands stop shaking and kicked the door open. His face was hard with a fierce scowl. Finch seemed to ease when he saw him. His smile didn't show but he did seem relieved. John pointed the gun at the leader of the thugs and waited. He had good reason to. This wasn't like his usual romps through bad neighborhoods. His mind was on solely saving Finch.

"I know you don't like guns." John aimed down at the leader's knee which was bent over a stack of crates.

"Not particularly." Finch cringed as the man holding him jerked him around to use as a human shield.

"Close your eyes," John said softly in his whisper-like voice. He didn't want to sound weak when he was faced with an opponent, but Finch always took priority.

Finch did as he was told, and even held his breath. The sound of a gunshot always shook him. It did this time too. He recoiled back a step at the sharp sound, but was quickly yanked back to his feet by the arm constricting his neck. There were two more shots fired, followed by cursing and cries of pain from the thugs. He could tell it wasn't John by the voices.

John shot in the knee as always. He used the butt of his gun to bludgeon both thugs in the head repeatedly after kicking them fully to the ground. He didn't really need to use his skills here because they were street thugs, not trained killers. The last thug left was holding Finch. John grabbed the arm wound around Finch's neck to stop any further pressure from being applied. His other arm swung past Finch's head and he ground his knuckles into the thug's nose, which broke on contact. The thug stumbled back, releasing the grip he had on Finch. John immediately twisted the arm behind the thug's back and thrust his entire body into the wall. While he was throwing the thug around, his arm was working its way around Finch's waist to steady him. When the thug was thoroughly roughed up and crumpled on the floor, John's other hand came back to pull Finch's head to his shoulder.

"Sorry I took so long. Did any of them hurt you?" He pulled Finch away by his shoulders to look him in the face.

"Ah, that one hit me in the stomach," he said softly under his breath while indicating the thug slouched against the wall behind him.

John nodded and patted Finch's head. He went over to the whining thug and pressed his boot's heel to the clenched hand. He put pressure until it sprawled out flat. Then, he put his weight on it. The bones cracked all at once. The thug screamed out in pain. He curled into a ball holding his hand. John looked back to Finch, whose eyes were wide with fear.

The ex-operative couldn't help but frown. He had got carried away this time. Finch turned and gathered his things, trying to defuse the tension. John helped the jacket onto his shoulders, playing along with it. There was no point in trying to seem like he was a kind, gentle man. His body itself was a weapon, there was no denying it. Finch turned back to John and looked to the door, ready to leave.

"Ahh!" he yelped as he fell forward into John's chest. He tried desperately to shake off the hand that had grabbed onto his ankle. John's hand covered his quivering eyes and Finch settled. Another cry rang out. John had slammed his heel into the leader's face. Still blinding Finch, John led them to the ground floor. There he let Finch see, but kept contact with his hand clasped to Finch's upper arm. He used the key he had looted from the thugs and unlocked the door. Finch stepped out into the fresh air, free of all grasps. His head titled up to survey the sky. The way the sun hit his face lit up each feature. The tips of his hair seemed to glisten and his cheeks took on the yellow - off-orange hue of the sunlight. He looked back to John who was lingering in the shadows of the door.

"That was…" Finch couldn't find the words to use. John still looked guilt-riddenfor showing Finch his true self back there. Finch quickly made up something to change the subject.

"Can we go to your apartment? I'd feel safer." He said it convincingly but it wasn't the truth. He was private and felt safest by himself, delving into a book in house no one knew he owned. He hadn't meant to lie, but something inside him needed John to be there to protect him.

John stepped up to him, nodded in agreement, and started walking. From here, his apartment too far away for Finch to walk. The car was near so he led Finch to it. He drove and Finch occupied the passenger seat, quiet and playing with the silver band on his finger. John wanted to talk to him, to ask if he was alright. He wasn't particularly good at emotional conversations, though and so the ride remained quiet. The apartment was a few minutes away, just in the better half of the city. He parked the car in a parking lot a street over. He generously opened the door for Finch and helped him to his feet. His suit was retrieved from the backseat before they ventured up to the studio apartment.

Finch hesitated by the door after they entered. John went right past him to lay his suit out on his bed and fall beside it. He laid there a moment before rolling over with his legs hanging off.

"May I use the shower? I feel dirty." Finch was shying from the door towards the bed as he asked.

John sat up on the bed and pointed to the door behind him. Finch only nodded and vanished inside it. John waited patiently but the water never turned on and it was utterly silent. He decided he would check up on his boss. He swung his body up straight of the bed, and strode to the bathroom, pushing the ajar door open.

Finch was standing by the counter wearing onlya towel. His palms were pressed on the edges of the counter and his eyes were staring hard at the figure reflected back at him in the mirror. John slid up behind him. His arms curved around the bare waist and rubbed Finch's lower stomach. He rested his head on Finch's shoulder and spoke softly.

"Does it hurt?" His fingers worked so lightly across the skin.

Finch tried to move away but was pinned to the counter by John's weight. He tried to bite out a harsh response to John's invasion of his personal space, but John cupped his chin, ran his thumb over his lower lip, and lifted his gaze to the mirror.

"You're blushing," his smooth voice whispered into Finch's ear like a soft melody.

Finch squirmed but froze when he heard something else. It was so loud in his ears and echoed over and over. His heart was pounding against his chest like it was trying to break free. After noticing that, he found that his body was growing hotter where John touched him. His chin, his stomach, his ear; they all throbbed.

"Mr. Reese, I just want to shower." Finch slid over towards the shower, trying his best to escape this blatant reality. John sucked at his teeth and pulled him back around by his wrist. He caught the shy man against the counter with his entire body and kissed him. Both of Finch's wrists were held tightly by his sides for restraint as the simple contact ensued.

"In denial, Finch?" John kissed him again. Finch felt frozen. He couldn't respond. He knew if he could, he would have. In his mind he knew he would have embraced John where he was standing. All of those small details he passed by as something like "friendship" were clear to him now as a deep feeling for the other man. John sensed the tension and ran his hands from Finch's wrists up his arms to frame his face in both hands. It was one sided. In the back of his mind, John could tell what was wrong. The thought that scared Finch daily was haunting him now. He pulled back and looked the pale eyes over. They were a soft blue, almost lost in a fog.

"Are you scared?" His voice was genuine; he wasn't teasing.

Finch's eyes widened and he jerked their gazes apart. He was stuck, though, in the strong arms that had fallen to the counter. A sigh escaped him and he looked up through the corners of his eyes.

"It's strange. Your body itself is a weapon and yet you use such restraint with me. I am scared of what you can do." His eyes closed, waiting for John's retort to such a ridiculous statement.

He waited blindly but he didn't get an answer verbally. He felt that heat creep around his waist again and yank him into John's chest. It was hot, burning even. Then, he got an answer he didn't expect.

"I'm not holding back. All I can be with you is gentle. You should know that."

John didn't wait for Finch to come to his senses. He bent his head and took the lips again. It was hotter this time. Finch's body was shaking but he was responding. He pressed against the kiss. His lips parted and he gasped; John wasted no time diving in. The wet tongue quickly found his and worked it over so passionately. Finch could only wonder where he learned that, because he was left panting in seconds. The blush splashed across his face and accented the soft color of his eyes and faint color of his lips. For all his work, John finally got his reward.

"God, it's hot," John panted while running his hand back through his hair.

He wasn't lying - his body was burning. Finch could feel it, the rise of his chest as he panted, the heat being transferred by bare skin and through the thin T-shirt. He wanted more of it and barely noticed how his tongue swept along his lips. John, however, did notice, and smirked. He bent his head to Finch's ear, teasingly taking the lobe into his mouth and tugging it gently. With a sweep of his tongue along the shell, he whispered, "I think it's only going to get hotter."

Finch shuddered, his knees weak like rubber. John braced the shorter man against his chest and pressed kisses along Finch's shoulder, finding his neck and marking it lightly. Finch only whined, unable to deny John any longer. John took the liberty of removing the glasses from Finch's nose and guiding the unstable man towards the shower. He backed his boss inside the crystal box, edging him against the wall for some extra support.

The wall was cold and hard, unlike John. The tanned skin stretched over taut muscle and chiseled features throughout – he mirrored near perfection. Even the way he stripped was smooth and flawless. He crossed his arms to pull the tee over his head, ruffling his hair and leaving his skin open to Finch's prying eyes. John tossed his shirt over his shoulder, just hitting the counter. He leaned in close to Finch, braced on arm against the wall by the fluff of brown hair, and took the supple lips again in a light kiss. All the while, he worked his belt off, discarding his badge, wallet, and gun onto the mat at the threshold of the shower. His pants followed, one kick at a time, pooling on the floor a few feet from the glass box. His bright grin pressed into the kiss.

Finch glanced down, a sudden blush lining his cheeks as John ran his fingertips along the entire length of the bulging in his briefs. He swallowed hard and turned his head up, catching a glimpse of John's crooked smile.

"Red looks good on you, Finch," John teased, running his thumb along the line of blush on Finch's cheek.

The ex-operative bent his head to take another kiss as he worked off his briefs. He leaned his body against Finch's, shucking his last article of clothing onto the counter. He took a hold of the fresh white towel wrapped around Finch's waist and whipped it off, leaving him plenty of skin to press flush against.

Finch let out a moan as John pressed unyieldingly against him. He felt the pressure of John's length rubbing against his hip, growing closer and closer to his own. This was really happening and he was having a hard time believing it. His heart throbbed; that was a new pain he rarely encountered. And, above all else, this was happening with John – John, of all people. The man he hired to save those who cannot save themselves. His white knight, his guardian angel. This man was the epitome of a man. God, and he was Finch's, all Finch's, even if it was only for this moment, this night. He wanted to know it was real.

"John," Finch called in an attempt make this real to himself.

John tilted his head, nudging Finch's head back until it tapped the wall. He followed up by framing Finch's chin with two fingers and looking into the pale eyes. Their foreheads touched and John's breath whisked over Finch's lips in a soft sigh.

"Harold."

Finch whined under his breath. John usually used his first name to tease; it was wonderful to hear it in this sense. He tipped his head back as far as it would allow, arching his back off the wall, bringing his arms up from their still position at his sides, spreading his fingers out across the strong wall of John's chest. Their bodies touched all at once.

John cupped the back of Finch's skull, reaching his other hand over to trace the wall of the glass box for the knob. He found it after some searching and flicked it on. Steam quickly filled the room, coating the walls in a layer of condensation. John pulled Finch from the wall, twirling him in the spray of hot water while sliding the door shut to keep the heat in. They ended with John's arms tightly around the shorter man's waist and Finch's laced around John's broad shoulders.

John's arms slowly slipped lower, positioning his hands to cup the firm cheeks. Finch shuddered against him, leaning most of his weight on John. John happily held him up by riding his knee up between the trembling legs and groping his ass. He rode his knee higher, grinding against Finch's erection. The recluse was left whimpering, a mess in John's arms.

"Hold onto me," John brushed the command against his temple with a light kiss.

Finch tightened his grip around John's neck, pulling his body higher and grinding their connected skin together even more. John pressed more consoling words down along Finch's jaw line and up behind his ear, tickling all his senses. His rough yet smooth voice floated through Finch's ear, his touch made his skin burn, his dark taste lingered on Finch's tongue, and that smell, the musk of gunpowder mixed with John's own scent in his nose.

John kissed here and there, working Finch's ass in his palms. He slipped one hand over, sliding his fingers down along the tight ring of muscle. He prodded it with the pad of his middle finger, rubbing it generously until Finch relaxed.

"J-John..." Finch moaned into John's shoulder.

"I've got you. Are you okay?" John brought his head back and kissed the tip of Finch's nose.

Finch nodded, resting his head back to John's shoulder. The corner of John's mouth twitched up in a half smile. He wiggled the tip of his finger past the tight ring and in to the first bend. Finch cried out, bore his teeth deep into John's shoulder. John hissed at the sting of pain. He withdrew his his finger, holding Finch stable with one hand as he searched the wall for the bar of soap. When he found it, he lathered up both hands, carelessly dropping it to the floor so he could resume his prep work. He swiped down along the crease again, slickening the pucker until it was adorned with cute suds. Finch's teeth dug deeper into his shoulder in expectation. Without heed for his own pain as Finch bit harder, drawing small beads of blood, John thrust the single digit deeper until it was buried fully. He wiggled it around, twisting it back and forth until the muscle relaxed a bit. It drew out to the knuckle, driving back in faster each time until Finch's cries melted into hushed moans.

A second digit wiggled in, scissoring and bending, searching for that spot that would send sparks through Finch's body. He worked slowly, searching every inch. He memorized every nook and cranny, every spot that made Finch shudder. He pressed deeper, dragging the tips of his fingers along the walls. To his delight, Finch's body clenched down on him with a moan that formed to easily into his name. He worked that spot, pressing into it over and stroking it until Finch was a shaking mess pressed against his body. He slowly withdrew his fingers, returning his grip to Finch's ass to hold him up.

"Turn around," John hummed softly while facing Finch towards the wall.

Finch nodded, slowly turning his body around. His braced his arms against the wall, putting all of his weight on it. He was panting, shaking on his legs. He was surprised he could even hold his body upright. He felt John's arms curve around his hips and form a loop around his waist. John pressed against his back, grinding his length up and down the back of Finch's thigh.

"Press back here-" John pressed his hips against Finch's behind.

Finch moaned as he pressed his cheek against the cold wall and extended his lowered half outwards towards John. John started to kiss along Finch's shoulder and move his hands back to grip his boss' waist, avoiding his injured right side. He took one hand back to line himself up, just nudging Finch's eager pucker. But, he hesitated, recalling his early words to minimize the pain. He dropped to a knee while still gripping Finch's left hip to hold him steady. His fingers skimmed the drenched floor of the shower until his fingers brushed the slippery bar of soap. He played with it in his hand, allowing a generous amount to transfer onto his palm and along his fingers. When he returned to his normal height, towering over Finch and pressing him against the wall, he gave his length a few good long strokes until it was coated in a layer of slippery soap. He realigned himself while bracing against Finch and whispered a few hushed words that seemed to calm the shorter man. With a roll of his hips, he buried himself deep into Finch's hot body. Finch naturally cried out at the intrusion, balling his fists against the wall and constricting around John. John pressed fully against him, just catching his lips for a brief kiss.

"God Finch, you feel better than I could have ever dreamed." John's breath washed over Finch's lips as he thrust fluidly into the tight body. Finch gave a soft chuckle, shaking their joined bodies.

"If... If it's any consolation, this is the best I've ever felt, John." Finch craned his head, taking a brief kiss before crying out through a strained gasp. His eyes flew open and his mouth agog, only fragments of John's name forming on his tongue.

John lowered his head to kiss Finch's fused spine with a wicked grin. He moved his left hand to the balled fist on the wall, relaxing it and intertwining their fingers until their bands clacked. It was more like a commitment than a gift. He thrust against that spot continuously, attempting to drive more of that reaction from Finch. He worked hard and steady, drawing out each roll of his hips in a perfected, timed movement that drove Finch to the edge. He moved nothing like a machine, pure, raw skill molded into his needs. Each rock, each push, the sounds simply escaped Finch, only motivating the beast pressing him hard against the cold wall. John let out a growl, his thrusts growing fast and short, slapping their skin together in an off beat. Still he strove for Finch's pleasure and hooked his arm around Finch's waist, grabbing a hold of his straining length and pumping it in time with his erratic pistoning. His thumb brushed the head in a faint sweep just as he thrust upwards, pressing hard into Finch's prostate. The walls clenched down tight, milking John until he threw his head back, body flush against Finch's. Finch reacted the same, body tight, pressed back against John's so hard it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

Finch melted against the wall, slipping down to his knees where John was crouching behind him with an irregular pant. His lips formed to Finch's cheek with a chaste kiss and a whispered, "I love you." It was a bit late for that, Finch mused in his hazing mind. He simply turned his head a bit with his not too often used smile and whispered, "You're bad at hiding it."

John gave his half smile and laughed while withdrawing from the welcoming heat of Finch's tight sheath. He leaned back against the glass door, letting the hot water pelt his skin and wash away the sweat. His eyes met Finch's as the shorter man turned from the wall, very unstable, and fell into his lap. John brought Finch up close and nuzzled their heads together. "Finch, do you?" John brought their eyes back to level. Finch nodded and rested his head on John's shoulder as he answered, "I love you too, John."

Before John could persuade his way into another round, preferably on the bed, Finch was out cold in his arms. He only smiled at the predictable incapacity of Finch's body and lovingly cared to the washing, clothing, and tucking of his boss into bed. He took his place in the large bed just beside Finch, drawing his partner into his strong arms and cradling him until warm dreams overtook him.

X-POI-X

The sun was hot, streaking across the white comforter and into John's lidded eyes. He let out a groan and rolled over, mindlessly patting the bed for his boss' body. When he found the rest of the mattress empty, he dragged his head up and surveyed the room. Tea. It was the first thing that hit him. Across the room standing by the kitchen counter was Finch wearing one of John's T-shirts and stirring a cup of steaming tea. His body turned back towards the bed, a slight smile forming as his pale eyes found John awake. He pushed away from the counter and began limping his way slowly towards the bed. The recluse limped a bit heavier than normal, as would be expected. John met him half way, dragging the blankets off the bed with him. He drew one of the smaller blankets up and draped it over Finch's shoulders before spinning him around and helping him sit down on the bed. John dropped to his knee, taking Finch's free hand up into his own and raising it to his lips. Finch idly took a sip of his tea, still smiling.

"I have half a mind to ask you to marry me," John called in his sleep laced, rough voice, kissing the silver band on Finch's left hand.

Finch laughed into his tea and turned his hand over in John's, drawing John's face up closer to his as he bent down. Their faces were inches apart, John like a dog on his begging before his master.

"You'll never know the answer unless you ask, hubby," the recluse laughed again at his own teasing remark. John was left stunned, but only for a moment. He climbed atop the bed like an agile beast and pinned Finch to the stripped surface. The teacup was hanging by its handle off one of Finch's skilled fingers just above John's head.

"Maybe after breakfast," John smiled before dipping his head and sucking one of Finch's lips into his mouth. Finch played along, toying with John's tongue and exploring his entire mouth. After John pulled away, Finch craned his head up, almost close enough for another kiss. Just as John leaned in for a second taste, Finch pressed the cup to his lips and took a sip of tea with the most devilish smirk.

"Work first, Mr. Reese. Work first."


End file.
